


Controlled Pain

by Amber_Flicker



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Depression, Episode: s01e10-e11 The Storm/The Eye, Episode: s01e16 The Brotherhood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In denial of issues, Pre-Slash, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Flicker/pseuds/Amber_Flicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But this time, he was in control.</p><p>-</p><p>Fill for the Self-harm square on my H/C bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controlled Pain

It happened for the first time after The Storm.

After the Genii and the storm were long gone everyone was finally allowed to take a deep breath, and he'd rushed off to the infirmry. But Carson was hurt, and he didn't trust anyone else to fix _this._ So he went to his quarters. He knew how to sew up a wound, he didn't need anyone else to know. It was bad enough that Elizabeth knew, he couldn't handle it spreading all over Atlantis.

Couldn't handle Sheppard knowing.

He wiped it over with disinfectant, wincing at the sting, and proceeded to stitch the edges together, the stitches looking a little awkward as this wasn't his strong suit. Not wanting to look at _it_ might have also made it harder. It still bled a little, so he bandaged it, put a jacket over it, and put more bandages over that. No risks of it bleeding through. As he left the room, his gaze flickered to his pocket knife, dark thoughts beginning to swirl through his head. He'd thought about doing it before, a long time ago. It was hard not to with how his parents treated him, but he never went through with cutting himself. But now? The idea seemed appealing in some way. Maybe if he cut he could learn to control himself, and next time someone tried to get to him that way he wouldn't care. He wouldn't be weak.

Not now. They would wonder where he was. He went back out, the thoughts pushed to the back of his mind.

***  
Elizabeth had basically ordered him to go rest. Sheppard hadn't gone willingly either, all of them were still so shaken up(no, sheppard wasn't shaken up, of course all of this was normal for him, he wouldn't be, i'm probably the only one who's still worried...) Elizabeth, thank god, hadn't said a word about the cut on his arm. Everyone seemed to think it was an accident, and he let them.

He'd pretty much forgotten about what he'd considered doing earlier, until he entered him room again, pausing as the door slid shut behind him. Almost on automatic, he walked over and picked up the knife, taking it to his bed. It wasn't until he was sitting with the blade to his wrist that he came back to reality. He knew if he did this there was no going back. He knew this was going to have an impact, and that he probably wouldn't be able to stop after the first time. But he couldn't bring himself to care. 

He couldn't cut his wrists. That would be too obvious, and he might risk cutting too deep. He didn't want to die, he just wanted pain. He bared his upper legs, running the blade across once without cutting, as if testing. Then he did it again, pressing it in. He hissed as blood began to fill the line, then slowly drip down. And then he did it again, and again, switching to the other leg after he made a few on the first. This was good. This was working. The painful emotions floated away as a different, lesser pain flooded his nerves. He wondered why he'd never done this before. 

Earlier he'd been sliced open unwillingly.

But this time, he was in control. 

He could control his reactions, control how much it _hurt,_ and no one had to know, no one but him. He would keep control of himself this way. Next time someone tried to do this to him he'd be prepared.

Cut, cut, drip, cut.

***

Over the next few months, he did it sometimes, but not often. Once a month, twice at most. Just enough to keep control. Reign in his emotions and hold it together so that no one would have to waste their time worrying about him. It wasn't that bad. He never cut that deep. Honestly it was barely enough to even be called cutting, he hardly did it! And if it made him feel better then it was a small price to pay. The only way to stay sane with the amount of pressure he took every day was to just not feel.

No one knew the difference(he knew they never would, he was smart about it and no one cared, why did he even bother to hide it when they didn't care?) Until he accidentally, in a bad emotional state, decided to make cuts on his wrist. It was just on the left arm. He could wear a jacket. At least half of Atlantis wore theirs every day, and that included non-military. And tomorrow they had a mission anyway. No one would question. 

No one did.

***

 

His perfect control began to unravel as soon as he heard that all too familiar voice. Just when he'd finally gotten rid of it haunting his dreams, too! But his emotional state didn't matter as much as keeping his friends from falling into this, so he stepped forward and agreed to help Kolya. 

_He could fix himself later._

"Someone give me a knife." He looked up, holding his hand out expectantly. Not the arm with the scar(and new cuts, which he'd been rubbing against the sleeve to feel the pain and _keep it together._ ) When they just looked at him incredulously, he sighed. "You all have guns. Give me a knife." And it was handed over. The irony of this situation didn't escape him. A knife is what started it all...

He would be deluding himself if he said he didn't think about stopping right there and running the knife over his skin, regardless of who was there. But he knew that would be stupid and he was supposed to be a genius and perfect and he couldn't let that façade fall, especially not here, not in front of _him._ Some sadistic part of him wanted Kolya to see the damage he'd done, but rationality blocked it out.

Then it got worse with the fact that if he couldn't figure out the puzzle then John was going to die and he didn't think he could handle that. But he was good under pressure, he could do this.

Until it wasn't even him that figured it out. And while he was happy everyone lived there was so much that had gone wrong he didn't even know where to start. He knew how to fix it though.

_Cut._

He'd lost the ZPM.

_Cut._

He almost got John killed.

_Cut._

**Kolya.**

He continued in that manner until there was too much blood on the floor and he had to bandage the cuts and clean up before it stained.

He didn't sleep well that night, because he kept being woke up by resurfaced memories and a feeling of being out of control that he didn't want.

***

 

This time he knew he'd messed up. Not the kind of mess up that was easily fixed or forgotten by the next day and never spoke of again. He was sure he was never going to be forgiven by the one person whose forgiveness he needed.

He had been out of control and almost gotten them killed and that was unacceptable. He knew no matter how 'hard' he tried he couldn't gain back the trust and that was okay. He didn't deserve it because he was always going to drive people away with his stupidity. 

With this and Elizabeth's lecture running through his head he began to cut, and by the time he was done there was harldy a bare patch of skin on his thighs.

He deserved the pain.

***

Sure he'd expected people to be mad at him for a few days, and his close friends(not friends anymore) even longer, but two weeks? All of this time and everyone was still shunning him. 

He'd tried to make up, he'd apologized and done everything right, but it didn't matter. He wasn't sure why everyone was mad at him when really only Elizabeth, John, and Radek should be. But they were and he continued to slip deeper and deeper into depression, until finally he decided to just work from his quarters. Obviously he wasn't wanted around but he still had to try to hold Atlantis together. He doubted anyone would notice, he'd been so quiet and avoidant for the past couple weeks he didn't seem to be there in the first place.

He was right. No one bothered to come visit him or even email him to ask if he was okay. He knew he deserved it. For the next four days he did everything from his room and in between that he cut(he'd moved to stomach and arms because that's all that was left) and slept. Or tried to sleep... But on the fifth day he stopped doing anything. Maybe if he just laid in his bed he would fade away and everyone would be better off. 

***

"John, I must speak with you." Teyla came up beside the man in the hall, waiting to continue until he stopped.

"Sure, what is it?"

"It's about Rodney... We're worried."

"Yeah? Why?" His tone shifted, and he seemed ready to walk off at any moment.

"Well, about a week ago he started working from his room," John looked a little surprised, how had he not known that? "But three days ago communication just stopped. He hasn't emailed anyone or come out." 

"Well, maybe he just decided to take a break. It's not like we have any disasters, if he wants to lock up in his room that's fine with me."

Teyla glared. "John! This is exactly why he left! With you still angry at him the rest of Atlantis is as well. He has been driven away by us."

"He fucked up. What did he expect to happen?"

"He was trying to help Atlantis fight the Wrai-"

"He was told it wouldn't work! He kept going anyway! Mckay is supposed to be smart enough to know when to stop, not keep going out of pride!"

"Rodney is your friend! Yes, he made a mistake, but so do we all. He doesn't deserve this. It's been weeks. He's tried to apologize, Now something is wrong and you are the best person to fix it."

John sighed. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Talk to him." With that, she turned and walked away.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe he could convince him to come out without going in person... John tapped his earpiece(he knew damn well Mckay wouldn't have locked up without having his with him), "Mckay."

He waited for 20 seconds before there was a reply- which was a little odd, usually the response was immediate, but he didn't think it was something to worry over- "Colonel."

"So you _are_ alive. People were beginning to wonder, you know."

"...How long?"

He frowned. How was it possible Mckay didn't know how long it had been? Hadn't he done this on purpose? "Three days. You've been in there for a week, but _come on._ It's time to quit playing around and get your ass out here."

"And be shunned? Might as well stay here, it's not like anyone cares."

"Damnit, Rodney. Man up! It's not like it's unwarranted."

"I-" The reply was so brief he almost thought he'd imagined it. He listened for it to be continued, but after a minute, he decided he had to say something. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was starting to worry.

"...Are you still there? Don't you dare tell me you hung up on me!"

The sound that came from the other end was a strangled noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh. "Haven't I suffered enough for you?"

And those words sounded so tired and _broken_ that before he knew what he was doing he'd started running.

***

 

He sighed when no reply came. That settled it, John was never going to forgive him. He could try and try and nothing was going to fix it, so why even bother with anything? It didn't matter. 

So he let himself fall back into the comfort of the blade. The three days since he'd done anything had allowed most of his cuts to be healed partway, but he sliced them open again, hoping to leave scars. Soon enough the blood was flowing in red trails over his arms, his legs, puddling on the floor. As the blood left him, so did his emotions. He was so caught up in it that when there were knocks at the door he didn't hear them. He only snapped out of the trance when it slid open, glassy blue eyes staring.

As soon as John took in the scene he rushed to close the door. No one else could see this. Then he took a minute to process what he was seeing. He'd never imagined Rodney of all people would... Guilt clawed at his heart as he slowly moved over to the bed, trying not to startle the man. He took the knife from limp fingers and put it on the sink in the bathroom, picking up medical supplies as he went, all of this silently. Then he stitched up the deepest cuts, bandaging everything carefully.

 

Rodney wouldn't look him in the eye. He'd focused on a spot on the floor since that one glance when John first came in. He'd expected more hateful comments, not this. He didn't know why he was helping him, but he was still waiting for something bad to happen, some angry look or biting comment. It would be okay, he was too empty to care right now. He had accepted that he was a failure.

John was struggling to find the words to say. What is someone supposed to say in this situation? I'm sorry? Why would you do this? Was it really so bad that you had to resort to hurting yourself? 

"You don't have to do this, you know. I can still work, you don't have to pretend you care." John felt like his heart was being ripped out.

"This is my fault, I have to fix it." _I do care, i just forgot that for a while..._

"It's not your fault."

That must mean... "How long have you been doing this?" 

"On and off since the Storm." He didn't have to elaborate, John knew exactly which storm. 

"Elizabeth never did tell me what went on that day..." He had suspicions...

Rodney turned his arm, revealing a thin scar poking out of the bandaging. John stopped breathing for a moment. "He" Rodney stopped his voice from shaking, "tortured me. And that? That's all he had to do before I broke."

He pushed the words out. "-But, shouldn't that have made you avoid knives?"

"I wanted to be in control." He doesn't realize he's crying, not until gentle hands wipe away the tears. He fought the urge to flinch.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was hurting you this much. If I did I wouldn't- I would have- " 

"Please don't. I should have listened. You didn't mess up here, I did." He always did. 

"Why do you insist on blaming yourself? If i'd just gotten over it and forgiven you for something that wasn't even your fault then everyone else would have too and _I pushed you to this._ "

"God, you're really self centered. It's never been about you. I don't think you understand just how much I hate myself."

"Who broke you down so much that you would hate yourself?" John asked incredulously. "You're- You're the most talented person I know. You've saved the people here countless times and you have so many friends..." He stopped himself. After the past few weeks it must've seemed ridiculous to say he had friends. Mckay probably didn't even want anything to do with them after how they treated him.

Rodney finally looked up, leveling an empty stare at him. "I'm a failure and far too arrogant to have friends. It was only a matter of time before you all realized it." He seemed so resigned to the fact that this was all going to happen eventually. How many times had he gone through this? 

Damn. How was he supposed to respond to that? Any reasssurances would sound trite at this point, he'd tried and failed at that already. So he settled for wrapping his arms around his friend(though it wasn't the sort of thing he usually did, but nothing about this situation was normal). Rodney had completely tensed up at first, but slowly relaxed into the embrace.

 

They sat like that for a while.

 

It wasn't going to make the problems go away, but it was a step forward.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for a while, but I got stuck in quite a few places. They're probably really OOC, sorry.
> 
> There were so many directions I could've gone with this prompt, but I've wanted to write something like this for a while. Rodney is just so fun to whump...
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it. Keep up with more fics from me at Cliches-and-coffee.tumblr.com


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